It’s twenty years since
I first came to Dancing Ledge for the major event in our calendar;
the quadrennial festival ball held each leap year at the time of the
full moon in June, the strawberry moon. Dancing Ledge for us could
be likened to Glastonbury for you, though we come and go without
causing traffic chaos and we don’t leave piles of rubbish and
plastic tents behind when we leave.

Every four years, for just a
few hours, the sea at Dancing Ledge becomes enchanted. Being our
first festival of the new millennium, the year two thousand was a
real highlight and we assembled at this special place from oceans far
and wide. We don’t need gadgets to tell us when to come, our
messages come directly across the waves, but I don’t mean
airwaves, for we are mermaids.

If you are now laughing to
yourself that we don’t exist, I suggest you check out a bit of
our history. It’s no coincidence that there’s a name for
mermaids in most languages. Our presence has been documented over
the centuries from the Far East to the Caribbean and there’s a
record of Christopher Columbus spotting three of us off the coast of
Hispaniola. Bluebeard logged sightings of mermaids on his voyages
and instructed his crew to steer clear of the danger we posed. What
a nerve! He was a pirate! Our existence remains shrouded in mystery
and we have been consigned to myth and folklore, nevertheless we are
depicted in works of art, music and literature in a number of
cultures and even feature on the logo of a chain of coffee shops.

Anyway, believe in us or not,
I can tell you that on the misty evening of the sixteenth of June we
gathered in some caves near Swanage and chatted while we combed our
long blonde hair and fastened our pearly necklaces ready to party
nearby at Dancing Ledge. The mist cleared just before midnight, as
we knew it would. Our formal dancing began as the strawberry moon
gleamed above. The music was natural: just the sounds of the sea,
the whistles, trills and clicks of the dolphins who came to join us
and our own lovely voices. Unless you have seen it, you would never
be able to imagine the grace of our opening mermaid minuet and waltz
of the waves. As the night progressed, the tempo picked up and we
danced our quadrennial quadrille, the strawberry samba and the
unforgettable Tilly Whim tango. All these dances were performed in
the water, our scales shimmering, almost indiscernible from the
gentle ripples on the sea glimmering in the clear moonlight. It was
very exciting and I could feel magic in the mild breeze.

In the early hours of the
morning we sat on the ledge to rest for a while. I took out my
mirror and began to brush my hair, happily chatting to my friends as
we anticipated the remaining dance line-up. That’s when I saw
him. He was on his own, watching from behind a rock when I caught a
glimpse of him in my mirror. I didn’t turn round but he saw me
smile at him in the mirror and realised that he’d been
discovered. Despite all the myths, we don’t mean any harm to
humans and the sight of us is not an omen of bad luck. He was young,
in his early twenties, and incredibly strong and handsome. I
instinctively decided to keep his presence secret. I could see him
gazing at my reflection in the mirror so I winked at him and gently
put my finger to my lips, signalling him to remain silent.

We all slithered back into the
sea and enjoyed a sort of aqua disco accompanied by dolphins
enthusiastically leaping from the water and diving back in their
inimitable way.

I knew he was there watching
the whole time, and although I was loving every minute of the
dancing, I was aware of his eyes on me alone among the swirling
throng in the sea.

When the ball came to an end,
I managed to linger by a shady corner below the ledge while my
friends noiselessly dispersed. I waited in the shadow and saw him
walk across the ledge towards the sea, rubbing his eyes in disbelief.
I began to sing and he came towards me. The attraction was mutual,
a sort of inescapable magnetism. I did not lure him or set out to
entice him, but I knew we were destined to be together. I pulled
myself out of the water and sat on the ledge. I heard him gasp,
looking at my tail. I looked down. Instead of my shiny tail, I had
legs like a human. Miraculously I was now clad in a loose, silky
dress which glistened in shades of silvery blue-green exactly
matching the colours of my former scaly tail. I tentatively stood
up. Woohoo! I could balance perfectly. It was indeed an enchanted
night.

He took my hand and gently led
me up the steep path and took me to a tiny cottage on a ridge. I
could see the sea from the windows but it was once again shrouded in
a fine mist through which the moon glimmered mysteriously. It was
love from that very first glimpse of one another in my mirror and we
have lived happily together for nearly twenty years. I have adapted
to my new life as a human. He is a fisherman and I have been able to
help him by diving for the best scallops to be found off Purbeck’s
rocky coast and, thanks to me, he is the first to know when the
mackerel arrive in Swanage Bay and where to find a ready supply of
seabass. More importantly, I can warn him of coming storms which
might put his life in danger.

To assist with our income, I
make curios from shells and jewellery from little polished pebbles.
In the summer I sit in our front garden and sing as I work. Tourists
seem to be drawn to the cottage garden by the sound of my voice and
we do a very good trade.

We swim together most days off
Dancing Ledge. People love to watch me diving and swimming
underwater as, with my ankles close together, I can flip my legs with
the smooth graceful movements I used to do with my tail.

There is just one problem with
our idyllic relationship. Although I appear to all intents and
purposes human, I’m pretty sure that I’m still immortal.
I even have a name which means “youthful”. He’s
now over forty, and though still strong and athletic, his dark hair
is going silvery at the temples. I have absolutely no idea how many
centuries old I might be, but people mistake me for his daughter as I
still look eighteen with my lithe figure and long blonde hair. Those
of you who have resorted to botox might envy me this, but I would
like us to grow old together naturally. There are various anecdotes
about mermaids gaining a mortal soul through marriage to a human, or
a human openly confessing his love for her. Marriage is impossible
without any paperwork so I need to consider the alternative version.

We’ve contented
ourselves with watching the festival secretly together from the coast
path above Dancing Ledge on four occasions. However, this time I’m
thinking of harnessing the mystical energy there on the fifth of
June, the night of the strawberry moon. Twenty twenty marks a new
decade, so the special ball could provide an ideal opportunity to
test the legendary power of love. I know without the need for an
almanac that the full moon will fall into the shadow of the earth
that night during what is called a penumbral lunar eclipse. Taking
advantage of the short period of darkness I could slip into the
enchanted sea to explain everything to my mermaid friends and return
to him on the ledge once the moon emerges from the shadow. I could
ask him to declare his love for me with the silvery mass of mermaids
assembled as witnesses.

However, there is a potential
flaw in my scheme and I need advice before the fifth of June. If my
plan works and I lose my immortality, will the aging process begin
that day or will I immediately become several hundred years old?
Perhaps I would be better to leave things as they are? What a
conundrum. If anyone can help, please get in touch by email to
julia.mermaid@fish.com.